Plan Your Trip Times Picks

WINTER IN THE SNOW

WINTER IN THE SNOW; Sunday River's Peaks and Bowls

By JOE CUTTS

Published: November 15, 1998

TIME was, early this century, when a downcountry aristocrat with a case of frayed nerves could retreat to the wilderness of Bethel, in western Maine, to cure what ailed him. The prescription: Vigorous exercise in the outdoors, and perhaps a little golf at what is now the Bethel Inn and Country Club.

Much has changed in the little town of Bethel since then. Logging is no longer the chief employer, and its central artery, the Androscoggin River, has been very nearly cleaned up. The grand Broad Street houses built by industrious businessmen are now likely to be inhabited by prep-school teachers and second-home owners. It's still a fine retreat, but the preferred retreat time is winter, not summer, and the prescription for peace of mind is not golf, a sport that might push a fragile soul over the edge, but skiing, a big-muscle, high-adrenaline activity that can restore one's sense of well-being.

There is good skiing near Bethel, in the rugged mountains on the Maine-New Hampshire border, and the town itself, its turn-of-the-century charm preserved, has a rich character, worth exploring in the evening hours. My friend Paul and I, off on a quick boys-only getaway at the Sunday River Ski Resort, arrived in Bethel after a beautiful drive through the White Mountains. We took a quick look around, decided to return later, then headed on to the resort.

Sunday River is six or seven miles north of Bethel. It is the cornerstone and headquarters of the American Skiing Company conglomerate, whose resorts include Killington and Sugarbush in Vermont and Steamboat in Colorado. Over the past two decades, Sun River has grown tenfold, from a creaky little day area to one of New England's largest and sleekest skiing destinations: 7,000 acres, 654 of them skiable. The east end is the business end, with shuttle buses heaving about on a maze of roads connecting parking lots and condominiums and base areas. We, however, had decided to bunk at the just-opened (and, at that time, not quite completed) Jordan Grand Resort Hotel, at the far western edge.

We pointed our overloaded Audi west down a long, isolated stretch of newly built road that only grudgingly yielded views of the ski area on our left. When the Jordan Grand came into view atop a knoll, with the Jordan Bowl area behind it, we'd come so far it seemed like a separate resort. But while the Jordan Grand is now somewhat isolated, it could soon be the center of the action: there are plans to expand farther west still, well beyond it.

The hotel's wilderness setting is lovely, and its lobby, with blond beams, three-story fieldstone fireplace and vaguely arts-and-crafts decor, is rich and warm. Accommodations range from small hotel-style rooms for two to more spacious quarter-share condo units. Our room cost about $200 for one night, but came with two lift tickets, worth $94. The room was basic, with a bath and two double beds, and we wished we had asked for an end unit, since the kids next door showed little promise, in their parents' absence, of resolving an animated debate over which television channel to watch. But there was a small balcony, providing fresh air and broad northward views of the mountains.

The real beauty of our ski-in, ski-out accommodations became evident in the morning. Not 10 minutes after pulling shut the door of our room, we were sliding into the short lift line at the Jordan Bowl detachable quad, and 6 minutes later we were at the resort's highest peak, tightening the buckles of our ski boots.

The top of the Jordan lift affords the best view, and a good chance to get oriented. The morning sunlight slanted in low, clean and cold as a friendly ski patroller discussed points of interest in his broad Maine accent. Less than 30 miles to the southwest, Mount Washington and the rest of the Presidential Range serrate the horizon. And the Appalachian Trail runs along a high ridge to the northwest, laboring over Old Speck, the highest peak in the area, at 4,180 feet.

Then our patroller pointed eastward, to the far end of the area, where the top of the White Cap lift was visible some three miles away. ''Getting there's easy,'' he explained. From where we stood, you can make an uninterrupted three-and-a-half-mile run all the way across the resort to the bottom of White Cap. Getting back is more difficult, requiring two chairlift rides and the good part of an hour.

BUT that is one of the pleasures of Sunday River. It sprawls across so many peaks and bowls that you have the feeling of having used your skis as a method of transportation, of having been somewhere. It's not quite the European experience of touring from village to village -- even country to country -- but there's a sense of adventure nonetheless.

We pushed off down Lollapalooza, a wide, friendly beginner trail, and warmed up with long arcs. The Sunday River trail map bristles menacingly with black diamonds (slopes for experts only), but the majority of the terrain is fairly manageable. In fact, the resort is an advanced-intermediate's paradise. With a modest set of skills, the whole mountain is yours, with the exception of a few sinister pitches.